Capitol Girl
by Daenerysbellagirl
Summary: Effie POV. Set before Katniss, this is Effie Trinket's story of why she decided to become a district escort. This also tells about the first few years at her job. Starts in the year of the 59th hunger games. T for possible references and mild profanity. :) There may be slight Heffie toward the end.
1. Prologue

"Look at her."  
"I know, her clothes!"  
"What does she think she's doing, walking around like that?"  
"That excuse for a dress should be put in the poor bin."

I'm not the prettiest girl in my class, nor the richest. If I lived somewhere else, it wouldn't matter so much, but I don't live somewhere else. My home is in the center of the Capitol, in the bustling heart of the city where everybody whose _anybody_* lives. That's why it matters so much to me to always look my best. Dress to perform, my mother tells me. Dress to impress. My parents own a clothing store, full of the latest variety- from the plain: 'District Chic', to the breathtakingly glamorous: 'Diamond Glow Collection' and 'Eupraxia Ephemeral'. They let me wear some of the cheaper clothes that have been on the rack for a while, so I always have nice things to wear. Unfortunately, they're always last month's style. This is the same with my hair. Though I have all sorts of clips to put in my blond curls, and I can color it any way I want, it never seems to be what's popular.

The girls at school always taunt me about my clothes, and have since the beginning of high school, but I try not to listen. I tell myself that one day soon I'll have a better job than my parents do. I'll be able to afford luxurious fashion. My hair will actually match my clothes. Better yet, I promise myself, I will be one of the _important_ people in the Capitol. I will make things happen, and I will show those girls that with a little hard work, even a girl who isn't as rich or as popular can make it in the world.

00000

The idea hits me the day I go to my senior prom. I'm walking by one of the fountains and admiring the way the water changes color in midair. I sit down on the edge of the fountain, carefully smoothing out my skirts. This dress is the most amazing thing I have ever worn. For the prom, my mother let me choose anything from the store- and this is perfect. It's brand new, and one of the most popular styles: an asymmetrical neckline and hem. The bottom of the dress pools in golden ripples on the ground as I sit.

Staring into the fountain, I think over the day. From the moment I woke up and had a relaxing shower that was just perfect- not too hot, and scented with a blend between lavender and mint, all the way to getting ready for this dance- my day has been fantastic. I trail my hand in the water. I want to share this experience. Not prom, but the whole Capitol. It's so beautiful, and everyone's up to date, and well-

I know what I want to be for my job.

00000

"I'm going to be a person who organizes the tributes!" As I say the words my career choice sounds foolish, even childish. Who wants to be the person who prepares tributes for their deaths?  
"A district escort," my mother corrects me. "You really want to be that?"  
I explain my idea, and eventually my parents come around. Well, they don't really approve, but my mother tells me that it's my life, so I can really do whatever I want. They help me find the right people to talk to, and soon I'm called in for the proper training.

00000

There are five of us undergoing training, including me. All the others are much older than I am. The youngest is in his second year of college. I sigh, despite myself. How am I going to compare against people so much older than I am? I'm only nineteen!

We introduce ourselves to the District One escort one by one. I'm nearly trembling by the time it's my turn. This is Gareth Silversmith, the oldest and most well known of all the district escorts. He's been with District One for nearly fifteen years, after starting his job all the way down with District Eleven. He's the best of the best, so he is the one I need to impress if I am to get this job.

"I'm Evelyn Trinket," I say, shaking his hand, "but you can, um, call me Effie. If you want."  
"Excellent," he replies, stepping back to address us all. "Now, you five, this year we have two spots open, and we'll have one more next year, as people are retiring. The Reaping is in two weeks, as soon as schools are out. Now, as to your tasks-" Mr. Silversmith leads us through all the basics in the job. We pull the tributes names out of the glass bowls in the Reaping, unless someone volunteers. Then we travel with the tributes and make sure that they get to every place on time. We also coach them on their speeches. "Now, the two spots that are open this year are Eleven and Twelve. The tributes from these districts usually need more help adjusting to Capitol life than others. They come from a rough life, you see, so you'll likely have to teach them some manners before they're seen in public." I nod and try to remember everything he's telling us. I begin to understand why there are only five of us here- this job is _hard_.

"For your full application," Gareth Silversmith tells us, "you need to write out the schedule that you think you'll have, starting from the Reaping and ending when the Games are finished. Then I'll meet which all of you individually."

00000

We are dismissed, and I immediately start planning the schedule. It's due in a few days, but I have to get started quick. Finals are next week, and I have to pass them if I'm to graduate. However, I don't think I'll actually be there for graduation! Not if I get this job. Instead of celebrations and parties, I'll be in one of the districts. Ohhhhh well. This is what I wanted, after all.

My schedule takes a while to create, and some of the parts I'm not quite sure of, but in the end I'm quite pleased with it. I've added in some extra details that I don't think I'll need, but I've heard that since Twelve is the poorest district, the tributes will need extra help. If I'm going to be assigned there, then I'll need to give them more training before they appear before the Capitol. The finished result doesn't seem quite long enough but it'll have to do.

00000

"Congratulations, Effie." Gareth Silversmith rises from his chair. "Welcome to the board of district escorts. You've got your post, so you'll need too be packed and at your train by 8:00 am on Friday."  
I thank him and turn to leave, but remember one last thing.  
"Which district?"  
"Twelve."


	2. District Twelve

It's a foggy day when I leave for District Twelve. My bags are packed with more than enough clothes for the day long trip. My parents are often worriers, and the only way to convince themselves that I'll be fine is to pack me more than enough of pretty much everything. I try not lot let it show, but I've been worried as well. I've heard that District Twelve is dangerous. It's poor and dirty, and no one has ever won. I sigh as I board the speed train and take a seat near a window. Well, if Twelve really is that poor and underprivileged, then they really will be in for a treat, coming to the Capitol. And I did want to share the beauty of my home, so what better place to start than with the country's poor? I'm really doing them a favor.

I wake up the next morning feeling less than refreshed. Even though the train has beds and all the comforts one could expect, I stayed up Most of the night, first with excitement, then worry. This is my first trip anywhere by myself. And to District Twelve, of all places! This district must be the farthest away from the Capitol. After eating some pale cracker for breakfast, I check my watch. I only have twenty five minutes until I get to District Twelve, so I'd better get ready. I pull out the schedule that Gareth Silversmith had given me. The first point is 'Board the train'. Well, I've finished that. Next is 'Ride the train', then 'Exit the train.' Well, he must be very detail oriented. I think I would know to get of the train! The next step of actual importance is 'Meet with the mayor.' I'm supposed to meet him at the Justice Building in District Twelve. I don't know where it is, but fortunately Mr. Silversmith has included a map. The building in the picture is very shabby looking. Surely that cannot be the Justice Building? It's some sort of faded stone, not even marble, and there are black streaks all down one side. Well, I suppose they have to make do, seeing as all they do is mine coal. I don't think anyone even uses coal anymore. At least not in the Capitol.

The train stops at precisely 8:25 am. The reaping isn't until midday, so I wonder why I'm here so early. Perhaps they need someone to help set up.

The train doors open, and the first thing that hits me is the smell. There's something rotting nearby. The air has a sooty tinge to it. Taking a reluctant breath, the repulsive air moves deeper into my lungs and I have a very undignified coughing fit. Shaking my head, I step out of the train and head for the Justice Building, glancing at the map every so often. How can people stand to live in a place like this? As I walk, I feel eyes following me, and I feel foolish in my Capitol clothes. Back home, my outfit would be normal, plain even, but here my bright green and teal dress and platform boots looks out of place. Maybe even ridiculous. I shake my head and curl my hair behind my ear. I do not look ridiculous. These people just don't have the privileges I do.

A couple poorly made streets onward, I realize I must have taken a wrong turn. According to the map, I should be directly in front of the Justice Building. However, I don't see anything of the sort. To my right is a plain brown house with a small patch of mud in the front. I see a flash of white fur- a goat- through the one window. Goodness, the people who live here are strange. I would never keep a goat as a pet. On the other side of the road is another house. This one is in much worse condition. The roof is corrugated metal, rusty in parts. There are logs propping up one of the walls.

I spin around and backtrack the way I came. However, looking for where I turned the wrong way, all I see is smaller paths leading off. I don't think I made a wrong turn, but if I've been going the right way, then that must mean the map is wrong. I brush the poof of hair behind my ear again. Where could I turn that would get me to my destination? I backtrack all the way to the train and follow the map again, but it leads me to the same place. I clutch the map tightly, even though I'm sure it's wrong. I have to face it. I'm completely lost.

The only way I'll be able to find the Justice Building is to ask someone, but I'm worried how the people here will react. I've only seen one person walking by, and he didn't look very friendly. But I am on a schedule, I remind myself. I check the piece of paper. I should be at the Justice Building by 9:00. Looking at the time, I discover that it is only 8:40. Good. I still have time. I keep following the main road in hopes that it will lead the right way and I won't have to ask anyone for directions. I have no such luck. This road continues on down toward a mountain, obviously not the direction of the Justice Building.

I take a deep breath and choose a house that doesn't seem too shabby. Maybe if the house is nice, the people will be nice as well. I walk over, but stop. I don't know whether I should knock. Maybe the people are sleeping still, and they'd be angry if I woke them up. I shudder at the thought of being chased by a nasty man with a shovel. Cautiously, I look around at the outside of the house. There's no light coming from the window. I look for a different house. This one is also dark. It occurs to me that the people might not even be in the houses, and thats why no lights are on. Well. I suppose I'll have to try sometime today. Taking another deep breath, I brush my hair behind my ear and knock on the door. No answer. I wait a few minutes before moving on to the next house, because if the owner of the house opens the door and sees no one, they probably won't be very pleased.

The door opens after what seems like an hour.  
"Yes?" says a woman in a faded blue dress. I notice her eyes tracing over my clothes. Sh wrinkles her nose. Obviously she doesn't think much of us citizens from the Capitol.  
"You're the escort, aren't you," she says. "I can tell."  
"Yes," I reply. "Do you know the directions to get to the Justice Building?"  
The woman sighs. Leaning against the door frame, she points to the road.  
"Go back and to your right," she tells me. "You need to take the third path down. It has a big rock outside the front."  
"Thank you," I say and turn to leave. The woman suddenly reaches out and catches me by the arm. I freeze. This is exactly what I was afraid of. However, she doesn't mean harm.  
"Just, please, don't pick my boy," she begs. "He's too young."  
I nod. "I'll try."

00000

The Justice Building looks worse in real life. Though there must have been designs carved on the walls at one point, now every trace has been worn away. The town square isn't that impressive either. It's just some packed down dirt. As I make my way across it, I have to snake around patches of mud. I can't risk getting these shoes dirty.

The mayor, Tom Mallohop, is waiting for me inside the building. I introduce myself as Effie Trinket, no 'Evelyn' this time. I've already got this job, I don't need to sound businesslike.  
"Why am I here so early?" is the first thing I ask.  
"You just need to go over some documents that have to do with your job as escort," he says. "You are new, correct?" I nod while trying to hide my dismay. He is very stiff and formal, which is normally good, but on him it doesn't fit. This feels like an act he's trying to put on. Maybe he's just uncomfortable meeting someone from the Capitol, I tell myself.

As I go over the documents with the mayor, I realize what is so weird about him. The people in the Capitol are all so cheerful, even when they are acting formal. The mayor, on the other hand, doesn't seem happy at all. Maybe it's something in the air.

The documents are finished in no time, which leaves me wondering what I'm supposed to do. It's 9:30. I check the schedule, but 9:30 is listed as 'Sign Documents'.  
"Umm, is there something I'm supposed to be doing?"  
The Mayor looks up from some paper he was working on.  
"Well," he tells me, "you can go find Haymitch. He'll need to be here for the reaping."

Haymitch, it turns out, is the only victor of District Twelve. He'll be the mentor of this year's tributes. This time, my map is correct in leading to his home, in Victors Village. I wonder what he'll be like. He must be pretty tough to have won. I think he was the winner of the second Quarter Quell, even. Then again, not everyone who wins stays ... normal. Victors go crazy all the time. I find it strange. Once they're famous, and have everything they could possibly need, they just go mad, or something. Maybe they don't like the attention.

I get to the only occupied house in Victors Village and knock on the door. No answer. The people in District Twelve must hate to answer their doors. Just as I'm about to turn away, the door bangs open. The man is very obviously drunk. He's swaying on his feet, and he has a bottle of something in his hand. In his other hand is a knife. I shriek and jump backward, stumbling on the uneven ground. I manage to catch myself before I hit the dirt. Shamefacedly, I get to my feet. The hand I used to break my fall has a red scrape across the palm. Small droplets of blood are pooling where a small rock is embedded. I straighten my skirt with my unharmed hand before gently brushing the rock out. Looking up, I notice that Haymitch is still watching me, knife lowered.  
"You the new escort?" he says. "What do you want?"  
"Well, apparently you're supposed to be present at the Reaping," I say as crisply as I can to make up for my ungainly stumble. "You'll need to get ready."  
"Listen," Haymitch replies. "I know how to deal with myself. I really don't need some little girl to be my alarm clock." He turns and goes back into his house, slamming the door behind him. I shudder. He certainly wont be a good mentor for this year's tributes. They need to learn, and Haymitch seems to be incapable of teaching anything.

00000

12:00- The Reaping. The mayor gives a brief speech about the Hunger Games and the Capitol. Funny. He doesn't sound very enthusiastic. Doesn't he know that the games are a chance for honor in each district? Well, maybe he's bitter that District Twelve hasn't won more often.

The mayor doesn't introduce me after his speech, but I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to speak next. No one protests as I walk to the microphone.  
"Hello," I say, then freeze. I never went over my speech. Stumbling for something to say, I come out with the same phrase everyone uses: "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor." There is an awkward silence as no one claps. I feel like I should say something to fill the pause, so I introduce myself.  
"Hello, I'm Effie Trinket, your new district escort." I smile at a field of blank faces and walk over to the girls' Reaping Ball. "Ladies first," I say brightly. It's rather unnerving how unresponsive everyone is. I reach into the big glass container with my left hand, the one that isn't scraped. Pulling out the slip of paper, I squint to read the name printed on it. "Karaley Patton." A slightly narrow faced girl sighs and slumps her way upstage. I greet her into the microphone. "And how old are you?"  
"Fifteen," she answers. I smile at her, hopefully to reassure her, then head for the other Ball.  
"And the boys' tribute is," I say as I open the second paper, "James Winward." I hear a gasp as the crowd of people push a shaking little boy forward. "And how old are you?" I ask him. He has to stand on his toes to reach the microphone. "Twelve," he says nervously.

As we turn to go into the Justice Building, I hear someone begin to scream. Turning back to look, I see that it is the mother who I had asked for directions.  
"You promised!" she shouts. "you said you wouldn't pick him!" I turn away as a group of Peacekeepers surround her. They'll calm her down enough so she can say her goodbyes.

While the new tributes are escorted to say their separate goodbyes, I consider going to find Haymitch. I decide against it, though. I really don't need another fall in the dirt. My hand is still sore.

I needn't have worried about Haymitch. After I've showed Karaley and James where their rooms are, I find him in the bar car. Typical. I ignore him and go sit somewhere else, casually inspecting my slowly healing hand. Tomorrow we will reach the Capitol. And I can't wait to show off my home.


	3. Trains and Chariots

"Why do you even care what we can do? We're all going to die, anyway!" I sigh and pat Karaley on the shoulder.  
"If you can tell us what skills you already know, then we can help prepare you for the Games more effectively." 'Us' is really just me, as Haymitch is too intoxicated to help.I wonder if he even cares about his tributes winning.  
"Well, I can say the alphabet backwards." Karaley leans back on the couch and crosses her arms.  
"That's not very helpful," I say. "Do you know things that could be useful in the arena? Like," I think back to last year's Games, "Fighting. Or tree climbing."  
"Really," Karaley scoffs. "All that's going to do is give me another day until I die. You've got to know by now that nobody ever wins from District Twelve. Ever."  
I raise my eyes and look over at Haymitch.  
"Yeah, well he's weird," Karaley says. "And I know you don't care. All of you Capitol people think this is just entertainment. Well, I'm not going to be entertaining. I'm just going to sit there and hope I don't die too painfully." She turns and walks out of the room, knocking over a decorative table in the process.  
I look over at James, who is lying with his feet up on one of the sofas.  
"I like this chair," he says, looking up at the ceiling. "It's so soft, and it reminds me of moss. And did you know? Rory and I found a bug yesterday. It was kind of blue, but it wasn't one of the ones you can eat so we just squished it." He sounds immensely pleased at the discovery of his bug.  
"Well, that's very interesting," I say, not being overly fond of crawling things. "Why don't you tell me what you can do."  
"I can climb trees. And I can catch bugs. And squish bugs."  
"Mmm," I say. "Well, tree climbing sounds good. But maybe not the bugs."  
"And I know which bugs to eat."  
I sigh and try not to think about the weird sound of bugs being crushed. And the goo. And the strange colored blood.

00000

The Capitol is by far the most important place in Panem. This is the place where everything happens. Everyone knows what is important and what isn't. The architecture is beautiful as well: soaring towers and bridges that rise high above the tree line. This is my home, the place I am most proud of. The tributes don't seem very impressed though. James looks out the window for a few minutes before turing back to the array of food that has been put out for breakfast. Karaley doesn't look at the window. She doesn't eat. I am afraid that I don't really know what to do about her. How do I convince her to at least try to enjoy her time in the Capitol? She doesn't seem to want to win the Games. In fact, she doesn't even want to try.  
"Do you not have friends that you want to go home to?" I ask her.  
"They don"t care about me anyway. If they did, then they would have volunteered in my place instead of just letting me go off to my death."

I tell both the kids about what they should expect in the Capitol: the district costumes they'll wear, the chariot entrance, and most importantly, the interviews.  
"The interviews are the most interesting part, in my opinion," I tell them. "They let all of the Capitol learn about you. Now, you don't need to worry about what to say, because Caesar Flickman is a fantastic host." The tributes stare at me blankly. "Were you even listening?"  
"Why," Karaley says. I sigh. I am just done with dealing with her.  
"Because this is how the Capitol goes about things. This is mandatory, which means that you must be interviewed, and if you don't want to look like an idiot on stage, you need to listen. And I assure you, even if you don't care about how you look, your parents will want to hear from you. So pay attention." I give her an extra sweet smile. "Now, shall we continue?" Karaley nods reluctantly. "During your interview, I think that Caesar will ask you some light questions, and then he'll ask you what you think your greatest talent in the Games is." I think back to last year's Games. About half the tributes said what they were good at. The rest kept their talents secret. The girl who won, Cecilia Beckner, was one of the latter tributes.  
"So...?" Of course it's Karaley. Did no one ever teach her to be patient?  
"I think you should hide your talent. It'll keep the other tributes from finding out what your strengths are. I'll talk to Haymitch and see what else you'll need to do."

As soon as we get to the train station, I check the schedule. I'm supposed to take Karaley and James to their rooms, then meet with the stylists before they go prepare the tributes for their chariot entrance. As we ride the elevator with a grumpy Haymitch, I gush about the building we're in.  
"This is the best of the best living quarters," I say. "I think you have the whole level to yourselves, and the Capitol has done everything it can to make your stay comfortable." I actually am not quite sure how much effort the Capitol puts into these buildings, but they are certainly much nicer than my parents' house, so that must say something. The elevator is definitely a work of art. The walls are coated in a layer of mirror shards that distort my image as I look at them. I look across the elevator at Karaley. She is looking around at the mirror, but not looking very impressed. James, on the other hand, is making faces at his distorted reflection. I decide that I like James, despite his lack of manners. His childish antics are actually quite endearing. Karaley, not so much. She would never fit in with the Capitol at all.  
"All right, here we are!" I say cheerily as we reach the twelfth floor. Karaley marches off somewhere, probably to sulk. James heads to one of the full length windows that looks out on the city. "James," I say, checking the schedule, "I don't think you need be with the stylists until 4:30. I need to go check on some things, but I'll be back soon." I go up a sleek black staircase in search of Karaley. My impatient knock results in a muffled "What, go away."  
"You'll need to be with the stylists at 2:30. I'll be right back."  
Heading back to the elevator, I call out a few more things. "Help yourself to anything. And ignore Haymitch."

Meeting with stylists had sounded fun on the schedule, but these pair are just ... strange.  
"A bikini? Really?" I ask, more than a little shocked. I had heard of stylists and their ridiculous costumes, but I had thought it surely couldn't be true. "But how does coal mining have to do with bikinis?"  
"The tributes are representing coal dust," the female stylist says. "We'll cover then in soot, and we have mining hats with lights."  
"Well, what about James?" I ask. "Surely he won't be wearing a bikini."  
"He can wear shorts," the stylist tells me. "Don't worry about him looking scrawny, we'll beef him up."

Well then. I head back to the less than perfect company of my District Twelve associates. I still can't believe it. I'm here, a part of the Games I've obsessed over for years. This is such a rare opportunity, and I actually made it! Come to think of it, someone else from that brief training will be here, as escort of District Eleven. I rather hope that it is Dite Redpath. She seemed like an agreeable sort of person.

0000

The other escort isn't Dite. It's Cornibus Ivory, the tall, buff, man who had introduced himself right before me during the escort training session. I run into him as I lead Karaley and James to their chariot.  
"Well," he says, looking Karaley up and down. I cringe inwardly on Karaley's behalf. Her costume is much too revealing, in my opinion. And though she manages to pull it off, the outfit has no style, no taste at all. "Not a bad lot this year," Cornibus continues. I step in front of him, breaking his gaze.  
"Why are you even here?" I ask, feigning politeness. "Wouldn't it be more productive for you if you tended to your own tributes, and finished making them presentable. There is no need for you to stand about while I'm busy preparing my tributes for the chariot ride." He shrugs.  
"Alright, Effie," he says, backing off, "I'll leave you alone."  
"I don't need your help," Karaley tells me through gritted teeth as soon as Cornibus is gone. "I have dealt with messed up guys before in my life."  
"Nonsense," I say in reply. "Cornibus really had no need to be here, and he should have been attending to his own tributes." I tuck a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. Karaley flinches, but lets me do it. "Now," I address the both of them, "I want you to wave as you pass the crowd. Oh, and smile. People are going to be looking for who they want to sponsor, and this is the first time they'll see you." I think back to when I was ten. For my birthday, my parents let me sponsor a tribute. I remember sponsoring an older boy, maybe sixteen years old. I don't know whether my gift helped at all, but he won, so my contribution must have helped. "Yes, sponsors are definitely important."  
I look over at James to see if his costume needs fixing. His problem is far worse than just the costume, though. The stylist's promise to 'beef James up' came through, but the artificial muscles look strange against his originally slim frame and round face. Well, there's nothing I can do about that.  
"You look wonderful," I say. We stand there in silence, waiting awkwardly for what to do next. James pokes at his fake arm muscles. Finally, a voice booms over the intercom.  
"Tributes mount up." I help James onto the chariot stand and fix Karaley's hat.  
"Alright, you'll do great," I say hurriedly, before the chariot horses take off. "Just smile. Be friendly." The horses start right on time and I hurry up into the stands to get a better view. This year, the costumes are as pretty as ever. The tributes from District One are dressed in gold chains, artfully draped over their shoulders. They have an air of confidence about them. They are positive one of them will win, and they are proud. District Three, technology, are dressed like Capitol televisions. Images and colors are projected onto the cloth. In my opinion, District Eight is the best by far. Their industry is fabric and textiles, so their stylists have a lot of freedom with costumes. The girl tribute is in purple silk that cascades into a pretty blue. The boy is wearing the same blue in his tailored suit. I am immediately jealous. Unfortunately, by the time James and Karaley get out there, everyone seems to have lost interest. Their costumes don't help either. Coal dust is a poor substitute for silken finery, and Karaley's bikini does little to improve reception.  
As the chariots come to a stop at the far end of the square, President Snow makes his appearance. I don't really remember how he was elected, as it was from before I was born. He seems to have been our leader for such a long time. Maybe he stays because everyone wants him to. We all love him, or at least respect him for keeping our country together for such a long time. I lean gently on the railing to get a better look. The president looks the same as usual, black suit, grayling hair, and his signature rose in his breast pocket. He wears a different color every day, depending on the occasion. Today, his rose is a stunning, perfect, cream color. I squint at the rose for a better look for nearly a whole minute. Then I realize that I'm squinting and reel back, hurriedly blinking my eyes to clear my vision. I look absolutely horrible when I squint. President Snow turns away from the microphone, and I realize I had missed his whole speech through my foolish squinting. I walk back down to the end of the chariot path. No one is here. Oh, no! I had thought I was supposed to be here. But if it's empty, then I'm in the wrong place, and my tributes will get lost, and I'll get fired, and I'll never become the somebody I wish I was-  
I walk as fast as my shoes will allow, moving in the narrow pathway underneath the stands. I'm looking for Gareth Silversmith, maybe even Cornibus. But I stumble and fall with a crash. Wincing, I get up, hoping no one heard the noise. I try to stand on my wobbly legs and hold onto a support beam. Fixing my skirt, I notice that a piece of paper is sticking out of my pocket. Of course! I sigh in relief. It's the schedule. The schedule. Now if it only has a map-  
Fortunately, it does, and I reach the exit I need to be at just as the Panem anthem starts up and the chariots start to move out.  
"You did wonderful," I gush at Karaley and James with as much happiness as I can muster. There really is no point in saying that their costumes were the worst.

00000

I get home late, at maybe 10:30. After the ceremony was over, at about nine, I had walked Karaley and James back to their living quarters and made sure they had everything they needed. Haymitch had disappeared, probably to his temporary bedroom. I had looked around to see if escorts were expected to stay with the tributes, but there was no sign of a room for me. So I walked back to my family's apartment and tapped on the glowing square on our doorknob. It's the latest invention from District Three, and is a fantastic little device. It recognizes certain fingerprints and acts as a sort of key.  
The house is dark and silent as I walk in. My parents must be out, and my younger brother Xander is probably in bed already. He's only eleven. I head straight up to my room and open the window. Leaning out, I take a luxurious gulp of pure, clean air, without the taint of coal or the sanitized scent of the tribute building. I fall into bed, exhausted but already planning my outfit for tomorrow. According to the schedule,while Karaley and James are training, I'll need to meet with potential sponsors. Hmm. What will make them remember me? I decide on maybe a blouse and periwinkle skirt, and blue in my hair to match. As I sink into my pillow, I muse on the day. I've done so much in so little time. Gone to District Twelve, gotten lost, coached tributes without failing. I think back to what I'd told Karaley. Sponsors are extremely important. Who had I sponsored again? My tenth birthday was which year? Fifty nine, fifty eight, fifty seven, fifty! I sponsored the winner of the fiftieth Games. That's right.


	4. Interviews

I wake up late the next morning and think a whole string of words that I'd never actually dare to say. I only have half an hour until I have to leave, because training starts at nine, which means I need to get there at eight, and it's already seven. I knew I should have set my alarm for 6:00. Now I won't be able to curl my hair.  
I jump in the shower, key in the exotic flower soap combination, squeeze my eyes shut. I go through my normal routine of getting ready while trying to remember what I was thinking about last night. It was something about sponsors, and the winner of the fiftieth Hunger Games. I actually think that I got a certificate for sponsoring. I can look for it when I get home.  
"Goodbye!" I call to my parents as I head out the door. Speed walking to the tribute living quarters, I try to see my reflection in my watch. I know that my part isn't even, and my hair's still damp in the middle, but I can't help that now. I suppose I can fix it there.

"Alright, listen up!" I say over a light breakfast. "Karaley, James, you have three days of training, and at the end, I think you have some time where you, um-"  
"Meet with the Gamemakers," Haymitch finishes. A glass of something in his hand, he looks like he hasn't slept for a week. I don't know, maybe he really hasn't.  
"So, what do we do?" Karaley asks, her mouth full of toast. Inwardly, I am repulsed and pleased at the same time- her manners are atrocious, but at least she's beginning to take an interest in the Games.  
"During the training, you need to try new things," Haymitch says. "Save what you're good at for the Gamemakers. Learn something new."  
"Yes," I add in. "The arenas vary greatly in styles and sizes. Do you remember the year with the ice?" Karaley nods. James does not.  
"I think I was too little," he explains.  
"Well, the arena started out as a warm, sandy desert, but the temperature dropped to below zero degrees after the first day."  
"That means everyone froze and died," Karaley clarifies.  
"So, for your skills to present to the Gamemakers, I think James should climb something. Or maybe use your bug talent. Karaley-"  
"I can start a fire with matches," she admits. "And chop meat, but that's not really a talent."  
"It's still good," I reassure her. "You'll show those skills to the Gamemakers. Now, we should head down to the training center. It's 8:45 already, we don't want to be late."

00000

"Hello, I'm Effie Trinket, escort of the District Twelve tributes!" I smile brightly at the middle aged woman standing in her doorway. "So, after seeing their _fabulous_ costumes last night, do you think you'd like to sponsor either of them?" I had practiced what I was going to say over and over in my head on the way here. Though the costumes weren't really fabulous, the least I can do is make them seem good.  
"Well, maybe," she says in reply. "How much are we supposed to give?"  
"Actually, you don't need to pay anything yet," I assure her. "If I put your name down, you'll be able to watch the Games from a special lounge, and the tributes mentor will talk with you to help your tribute get the most out of the gift. So, what do you think?"  
"Which ones were Twelve again?" The woman stifles a yawn. I realize that maybe it is too early for me to come asking, but oh well.  
"The ones in the..." I try to come up with a word, "coal dust inspired outfits."  
"Oh." The woman shrugs. "I was thinking of the ones in the black with the spikes." She is thinking of District Two, whose tributes had worn obsidian black catsuits with crowns and collars of glassy shards. "I don't think I'll sponsor," she continues. "Coal dust? That girl looked sort of...sleazy."  
I nod and leave with a hurried farewell. Maybe the next house will be more favorable.

Unfortunately, the occupants of the next ten or so houses share the first woman's attitude. Though one girl was nearly on the brink of deciding to sponsor James, her mother convinced her otherwise, promising better results if she chose the girl from Four. My thoughts have a strange savagery as I leave that house. I want the girl from Four to die in the bloodbath, and I want James to win. Not because of his poor mother, or so my first year as an escort will be memorable. I just want him to show them that he was worth it after all. Feeling thoroughly discouraged, I walk home to grab a quick bite for lunch. Maybe if I try asking around my neighborhood, where people know me, it will have better results.

My afternoon soon becomes tedious: ask if they will consider sponsoring, mention the premium status and special viewing quarters, leave with a name and phone number, or more often nothing. I do have better results near my home and in the outer sections of the Capitol; by the end of the day I have eight names on my list. I hurry back to the tribute living quarters to give the list to Haymitch. If he's a good mentor, which I doubt he is, he'll call all the numbers tonight. Otherwise, I don't know what will happen. Hopefully the sponsors will get where they are supposed to go.

"Hello?" I call as I step into the penthouse of the tribute housing. No one replies. I find Karaley and James eating dinner on the couch. I purse my lips in disapproval. Eating on the couch is not allowed. Do they not understand how much work it will take to clean out a stain if they spill anything? I raise a hand in greeting at the tributes. "How did the training session go?" Karaley shakes her head.  
"Can't do anything," she says, viciously ripping a sourdough roll in half. "I don't know how to do it."  
"Well, the point is to learn," I tell her, a bit patronizingly, I must admit. "If you start with the easier levels of what you need to learn, and work up toward the difficult things, then eventually you'll get there. You do have time to learn, you know. Two more days." I wander over to a side table and pour myself a glass of juice. "Do you know where Haymitch is?"  
"Somewhere in the back." Karaley nods towards the bedrooms. "He hasn't come out all day."

I poke my head into the third bedroom down the hall. "Haymitch?" There is no answer. I tiptoe in, hoping to just put the paper down with a note, but as I enter, I see a stirring. Haymitch is crouched on the bed, cradling a bottle. I flip on the light and see him flinch as the room brightens.  
"Haymitch?" I repeat. "I've brought you the list of the sponsors. Well, possible sponsors. You'll need to call them."  
"I know what to do," he replies. "Put the list on the table, princess." I wrinkle my nose.  
"Wait, why are you calling me princess? I thought you didn't like me."  
"I don't," he says. "You act like a princess though. And half the Capitol is like you. Innocent. Naïve." Well then, if he wants to be insulting.  
"How are you better?" I retort. "You are a good for nothing drunk. And I'm not that word you said. I'm a very normal person. And I'm not innocent. I have gone through high school, after all." Haymitch smirks and takes a swig out of the bottle.  
"You keep believing that, princess."  
I sigh and put the list on Haymitch's bedside table. As I turn to go, one last thing comes to mind.  
"Haymitch, what Games were you the victor of?" He shrugs.  
"The fiftieth. The last Quarter Quell."

00000

I stare out my window at the trees nearly hidden by the night, procrastinating removing my makeup. I cannot believe it. _Haymitch_ is the victor I sponsored. The sarcastic blond sixteen year old. The boy I had thought was sort of cute. How could that boy turn into this hopeless drunk? The summer breeze blows into my room and I remember something one of the District Four mentors had said, the year I sponsored. _Being in the Games, it changes you._ Beingpten at the time, I never thought much of it, but now- maybe that is what happened to Haymitch. The Games changed him.

The next few days, I try to avoid Haymitch as much as possible. It isn't that hard. When I bring back the lists of sponsors (which have fewer and names each time), I slide them under the door and leave Haymitch alone. But on the day of the individual assessments, it can't be avoided. After Karaley and James are finished, they need to get ready for their interviews. Though their interviews aren't until tomorrow, I think I should start going over the basics with them: how to be friendly, make jokes, and for Karaley, how to walk in high heels. Haymitch also needs to help with something. Maybe he can go over what they'll talk about in the interview, since that doesn't seem like a very hard task.

"I feel like a snared rabbit." Karaley shifts and wriggles in front of the mirror in her room. "Why does this thing have so many bows?" Karaley and James had just returned from their sessions with the Gamemakers when i had pounced. I know they are probably tired, but they need to learn how to present themselves. And tomorrow there will hardly be any time, since the tributes need to start prep work at 3:00. I shrug at Karaley.  
"I don't know what your stylists are going to put you in, so I chose something hard to walk in for you to practice with. That way, when you have your real dress, it won't be as hard to walk." I turn to James, who is standing stiffly in a black starched suit. "This is something very much like you'll be wearing in your interview," I tell him.  
"But why?" he asks. "Why do we need to be dressed up?"  
"It's all about presentation," I explain. "During your interviews, there will be sponsors who haven't made up their mind who they want. It's your job to win them over."

We get to work. Karaley has good balance, despite her atrocious posture, and masters walking in heels quickly. However, both she and James have trouble sitting properly. Karaley slumps her shoulders all the time, and when James tries to sit up straight, he tucks his chin, making awful folds on his neck. I do my best with the two of them, though, and by the time two hours are up, they look pretty presentable.  
"Right, so you two are doing great with presentation," I say as cheerily as I can to make up for the fact that I am exhausted. Working in a new place has been more tiring then I had thought. "Tomorrow," I continue, "we'll work on what you will talk about. We may or may not have Haymitch to help, but I think you two are nearly ready for your interviews anyway."

We eat a quick dinner, only three courses, then sit down to watch the training scores. To my surprise, we are joined not only by Haymitch, but by the stylists. The two stylists (I have neglected to learn their names) mainly talk to each other in low voices. I have a feeling that they are conferring about the interview outfits for Karaley and James. Most tributes do well; the tributes of District 2 have managed to pull of a pair of tens. Even the kids from poorer places like Ten and Eleven have reasonable scores. One boy from Ten, a tall, lanky teen, scores a nine.

I glance over to see whether Karaley and James are as nervous as I am. I've always gotten anticipation jitters from waiting for the scores of my favorite tributes, but this year it's worse. I suppose this is because I'm actually partly responsible for the scores now. James looks moderately excited, leaning forward in his seat. However, Karaley shows no signs of nerves at all. She just looks exhausted, like she's just done trying. I let out a silent sigh. How am I to help her enjoy her time here if she won't even try?  
We all cheer when James gets a six. Though it isn't that impressive, one does have to take his age and district into account. However, Karaley earns a three. An extreme low. I glance over at her and see that she's smiling. It's a grim, resigned smile. I can't help but wonder what she's planning.  
"Karaley, could you tell us your strategy?" That is the female stylist.  
"I won't." Karaley is back to her normal sullen face.  
I just shrug at the affronted stylist. If Karaley wants to be like that, there isn't anything I can do.

00000

The day is warm on Interview Day. It's almost too warm. Though sun is always welcome, my pink, fluffy dress sticks to my legs most uncomfortably. I've coached Karaley and James for hours on the content of their interviews, and the three of us are all ready for a break. I send them off to find some lunch while I seek out Haymitch. Though I don't particularly want to talk to him, I feel obligated to make sure he has something to eat. I don't even know why. I've never even forced my brother to eat lunch if he didn't want to.  
"Haymitch?" I call through his door. There is no answer. "Haymitch!" I push the door open and march inside, determined to see why he isn't responding. The answer is simple, really. He isn't even there. His room is empty, save for a jumble of clothes and bottles in varying degrees of emptiness. Throwing my hands up in exasperation, I make my way back to the dining room. "Why do I even try?" I mutter to myself under my breath. "Why do I even try."

In the few spare hours before the interviews start, I escape to the roof. Though this job is fun, it is also very tiring. Looking out over the view of city, with its tall buildings and hovering roads, I can't help but compare it to District Twelve. For the first time in my life, I realize that I am a very fortunate person. The Capitol is so beautiful, and I'm so lucky to live here. If I had been born into a District Twelve family- I shudder to think about it. I stand there, relishing the cool breeze on my bare arms, for quite sometime. I nearly begin to doze off when I hear footsteps behind me.  
It's Haymitch.  
"You came up to escape as well?" he asks. I shrug, leaning back against the railing.  
"It was too warm." I look at Haymitch, wondering if I should tell him my story of sponsoring him. I take a deep breath. "Haymitch," I say, my voice turning into a squeak, "I sponsored you in your Games." He just stares at me, and inwardly I curse myself for being so foolish. Why had I ever thought that he would want to know that? Haymitch turns and leans over the railing, staring seemingly into the distance. Suddenly, he picks up a pebble and hurls it over the edge. Strangely, it comes back, flying high over Haymitch's head to hit the roof door.  
"That is a force field, princess," Haymitch says to my shocked expression. "So the tributes can't jump." I shrug. I can't begin to imagine why they'd want to. Suicide. They shouldn't want to kill themselves. Being in the Games is a great honor, after all.  
"I used a force field to survive the Games," he says idly. I nod.  
"That was a great idea," I pipe up. "No one was expecting it. It left half the Capitol shocked!" However, Haymitch doesn't seem so pleased.  
"It wasn't a good idea," he says. He grips my arm and stares straight into my eyes. I try to lean away, but I still smell the alcohol on his breath. "Because when the Games were over, they killed her. Killed everyone." He stares at me a while more, then finally lets my arm go. Shivering now, despite the heat, I hurry back inside.

00000

"And welcome to the fifty ninth annual Hunger Games!" Caesar announces. The crowd goes wild, roaring and clapping like they've never seen a Games before. I am backstage with Karaley and James, waiting with them for their turn.  
"Karaley," I whisper as I pin the back of her dress back together (it had ripped when she bent over to get something), "if Caesar mentions your three in training, just _change the subject._ Okay?" She nods absent-mindedly.  
"I think I have an idea of what I'll say," she tells me. She hikes up her skirt and goes to the line. James stays by me.  
"I'm nervous," he says. "Effie, did you ever have an interview?" I nod.  
"The most important thing to do," I tell him, "is to be yourself. You have a very enthusiastic personality. Just act like you normally do and you'll be fine."  
The first tribute, Regina from District One, walks onstage. Splendid in a gilded silk gown, she looks like a princess in the making. However, that doesn't say anything about what she's really like. Tributes from Districts One and Two are usually the most vicious killers. Caesar welcomes her as she takes her seat.  
"So, Regina, how have you been liking the Capitol?" She gives a little giggle and shrugs.  
"It's so very grand. I almost feel out of place!" Caesar nods.  
"Despite that, you seem to be fitting in quite nicely. Why, your training score of ten marks you as quite the adversary!" Regina giggles again.  
"Well, I'll just say that I'm pretty talented with a knife." She smiles at the audience. "Don't you just love my dress?" Caesar nods.  
"It certainly does look pretty, but I have to ask you one thing about it. Are you going to be alright walking in that?"  
"Well, I walked onstage, I think I'd be able to walk off." This gets a wave of laughter from the audience.  
"Well, try walking right now," Caesar continues. Regina flips her hair and gets up. She parades back and forth to cheers from the audience.

The next tribute, Brannock, is dressed like a king. Caesar's first comment on his outfit is: "So you obviously planning on being the king of the Games this year." Brannock's interview goes on in much the same way as Regina's: friendly comments, jokes, and a couple of comments about the training scores. I inwardly shudder about what will happen when Karaley's score comes up in the conversation.

District Two's clothes are far more spectacular than the clothes of District One, but in a chillier, distant way. The girl, Inala, is wearing a slinky black dress with glassy shards decorating the hem. A crown of the same shards rests in her curly black hair. She has a strange voice, too: a shade too low, with a hint of a rasp. It just adds to her menacing stature. As her interview goes on, it has none of the lightness of the District One tributes. Inala, whose kills are apparently in hand to hand combat and creating various sorts of explosions, seems to have a sort of dark vicious air about her. She doesn't seem much like one for jokes.

Her partner, on the other hand, is very different. Though he is dressed much in the same way Inala is, he has a rather charming smile, which makes the whole interview much more fun. Of course, this charming attitude will likely disappear once the Games begin, but I can't help but admire him. He certainly has had fantastic training on how to win over sponsors. Then I remember that I can't be on his side if I want Karaley or James to win, and I try very hard to hate him. It doesn't work very well, though. I've never been able to hate people.

The line moves up, and my view of the next few sets of tributes is blocked by a curtain. However, I come to my own conclusions about the tributes by the sounds of their voices. The tributes of District sound confident, not that they'll win, necessarily, but that they'll at least put up a good fight. The girl from District Four sounds nervous, even scared, but her partner seems to remain optimistic. District Six sounds interesting this year. The male tribute volunteered to save his younger cousin from going in. Now that's really dedication. I think back to what Karaley said on the train: _If anyone cared about me, they would have volunteered for me._ Surely that couldn't be true. Karaley probably had relatives who were just too old to volunteer. Otherwise, someone would have gone up instead. Wouldn't they? I would think they'd want the glory of winning, at least.

Too soon, it is Karaley's turn. I can feel her shaking as I walk her to the side of the stage.  
"You'll be great," I whisper to her. She nods stiffly and makes her way on stage. Caesar starts off with a question about her first costume.  
"So, Karaley, what was your costume supposed to be representing?"  
"Well," she replies, "We were probably supposed to be coal. But it felt like..." She trails off.  
"Like what?" Caesar prompts.  
"I felt like a freakin' prostitute," she states. I hear plenty of gasps from the audience and resist the urge to do the same. Walking back to James, I see him suppressing a laugh.  
"Look at the stylists!" he whispers to me. The stylists are very obviously shocked. The look on the man's face, a mixture of revulsion and mortification, is simply hilarious.  
"Well, I think the dress you're wearing more than makes up for it," Caesar states, obviously trying to mollify the stylists.  
"Yeah. I guess so." Karaley is wearing a short black dress with geometric flame decals leading from her right shoulder and around her back to meet the hem of her skirt. It is a very pretty outfit, though not quite my style. "It still feels kinda short, though." Seeing there is nothing to be done about Karaley's comments on fashion, Caesar moves on.  
"So, we were very surprised at your training score. Lots of people were disappointed that you didn't do better." I play with the hem of my skirt, hands getting sticky. _Oh Karaley, come up with something!_ "But I think I know better," Caesar continues. "Am I correct in assuming that you are hiding your abilities?" Karaley nods. I sigh in relief.  
"I won't tell what it is," she says, "but I'm definitely planning something."

I pat Karaley on the back as she steps offstage.  
"See?" I tell her. "You did amazing!" She cracks a hint of a smile.  
"Thanks, Effie," she tells me. "I think I should go get changed." I nod and lead James to the wings of the stage. As I push him on (and I really need to push, since he doesn't want to leave the safety of the curtain), I hear an almost imperceptible sigh from Karaley's direction. Turning, I see nothing but an empty hallway. Karaley must have left already. That's strange. I would have thought that she'd want to watch James' interview. I soon realize that nearly half of James' interview has already gone by. Oh, and he was so nervous, too. I hope he's doing alright.  
"So you've got a pretty impressive score for your age," Caesar is saying. James nods wildly, apparently having warmed to the attention of the stage.  
"I just climbed a whole bunch of things," he says excitedly. "My mom told me not to climb trees at home, but I did anyway, so now I think it'll really help."  
"Let's hope the arena has trees, then," Caesar replies.  
"Yeah," James agrees, sounding a bit discouraged. "But I'm pretty sure that I could climb other things too. Rocks, buildings, stuff like that." Caesar doesn't talk much about James' clothes. This is a good strategy, since the audience likely remembers James' ridiculous muscles all too well. James exits after a couple more questions about his district. He is the youngest tribute in this year's Games. This is apparently very rare, since the Reapings are definitely engineered to bring in mostly older tributes. Older tributes are more likely to fight well and add to the entertainment, so in each district's Reapings, it is much more likely that an older tribute will be drawn.

I take James to find Karaley, and together we head back to the penthouse of the tribute living quarters. Neither one seems to want to re-watch the interviews, so instead we eat`a light dessert. We are shortly joined by Haymitch, who doesn't seem to be as drunk as usual. This is a nice surprise! However, Haymitch sober isn't much nicer than Haymitch drunk. After downing a handful of chocolate truffles, he just sits there glaring at us. I suppose that I should be glad that he's not yelling, but I can't help but feel that he should be giving Karaley and James advice.  
"Do either of you have any questions to ask Haymitch?" I ask them. "Before tomorrow?" Karaley nods her head.  
"Can I watch one of the past Games?" she asks. "To get tips?"  
"Of course!" I am delighted. She's finally beginning to take an interest in the Games! I find an old box of video tapes in the top of the linen closet. It's strange that they would be there, but who am I to judge the Capitol? Karaley chooses to watch the 23rd Games. It's from before I was born, so I join her and James on the sofa to watch.

The movie starts out with the Panem national anthem and opening ceremony, but Karaley skips past that. She skips the interviews too, and I reach out to stop her, but pause. I can always watch it later. And well, Karaley is the one who's going to be in the Games, anyway.  
The film switches to the countdown. Each tribute is standing on their pedestal around the Cornucopia, which is filled with various weapons, mainly axes, and large sacks. As the countdown gets nearer to one, I see a commotion on the other side. One of the tributes has stumbled. The tribute, a young boy, struggles to regain his balance, but topples off his pedestal. An explosion immediately surrounds him.  
"That's another thing you need to know," I say. "You need to stay on the pedestal until you hear the horn. Then, and only then, will they-" Karaley shushes me. She is staring intently at the screen, eyes tracing the explosion. I briefly wonder what she is thinking of, but forget to ask as the action starts.

The 23rd Games turns out to be a fantastic one. The arena, a sheer mountainside, is gorgeous and breathtaking. There are many extreme twists in the plot, and even a love interest between the District Three boy and the District Five girl. All in all, it's a very thrilling story. I am captivated, and barely notice Karaley and James during the action parts.  
"Well," I say brightly when it's over, "do you think you want to see another one, or-"  
"Goodnight," Karaley announces. James nods and also turns to go to bed.  
"Alright," I say to their backs, feeling a bit lost. "Goodnight! Goodbye, Haymitch. I'll see you all at breakfast!"


End file.
